


31 Days of Ineffability

by Animationfantic



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:23:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21964921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animationfantic/pseuds/Animationfantic
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale decide to experience the holidays with their new family from a human perspective.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 2





	1. Sleigh Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale sets up a safety net when Crowley drives to Tadfield.

Winter was just around the corner, and opinions in the bookshop were divided. Aziraphale loved it. Crowley hated it. Long nights, bitter winds, and bloody blessed snow. Warm-blooded or not, the Serpent of Eden had never been a fan of winter. He’d suffered more accidents during the winter months than any other time of year. Up in Siberia, Crowley had slipped and fallen through a frozen lake. He would have discorporated if a certain angel hadn’t been in the area. Another time, visiting Sweden, he’d lost all feeling in his left arm after an avalanche that might or might not have been his doing, buried his tent. Again, Aziraphale to the rescue.

The days were getting shorter, the air adopting a crisp sting as November rolled to a close. Aziraphale let his demon stew upstairs in the flat over the shop. Crowley needed the time to adjust. He’d spent the past week and a half curled in their bed, under a mound of warm sheets. Alas, to all good things there must be an end.

In this case, the first of December.

Though it was cold enough, it hadn’t snowed. Yet. Aziraphale hoped it would soon. It wouldn’t be the same without a good snowfall. The forecast in London was never very accurate. He loved winter. The scent of cedar. The crackle of fresh snow underfoot. The warm glow of the fire. The crack and pop of chestnuts. And, above all, the loving presence of family and friends.

Traffic rumbled on the street outside. People chattered. Puffs of cold breath tracked the progress of their words on the chilly air. The clock began to chime. Aziraphale looked up. He'd been up at six, and spent the past few hours reading downstairs while the city awoke.

 _Nine already?_ Aziraphale sighed and closed the book. _Time to wake the snake._

He mounted the stairs. The ancient wood creaked, making him smile. It was as if the shop itself was helping to wake Crowley. Aziraphale eased the bedroom door open. Light spilled over the mattress. Crowley groaned and rolled over, pulling the blankets over his head. The bed creaked as the angel sat down. He scratched Crowley’s back.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale cooed. “Are you up, darling?”

Sheets rustled. Crowley poked his nose over the blanket to glare at the angel. All his hair stood on end. His amber eyes were clouded with sleep. He hissed, long and low.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale said, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice.

The demon craned his neck. He glowered at the clock on the nightstand. He turned the glare on Aziraphale. “It’s _early_ ,” he growled. “Beat it.”

Aziraphale didn’t budge. “Time to get up, love. The children are visiting later and I’d like to have a decent visit. They’re expecting you. Am I going to have to drag you out of bed?”

Crowley muttered sourly and disappeared into his nest. “Five more minutes,” he said. “I’m comfortable.”

Aziraphale found his feet through the sheets and gave the curled toes a gentle squeeze. “It’s time to get up,” he repeated. “I’d hate to be in your shoes if those children find out you’re late. Come on, get up.”

“Make me.”

“Don’t tempt me. You know I’ll do it, and neither of us want that.”

The prospect of separating the demon from his bed was not a pleasant one. Aziraphale wasn’t fazed. Experience was on his side.

“It’s time.” Aziraphale stood up and gave Crowley’s toes a final squeeze. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, and if you’re still not up, I’ll start decorating the shop without you,” he said. He paused in the doorway long enough to add, “There _will_ be tartan.”

Crowley groaned, loudly and obviously. Smiling to himself, Aziraphale closed the door. The deed was done. He went back downstairs and put the book he’d been reading on his desk. It was a good one, a gift from his demon.

Overhead, pipes clanged. Aziraphale heard the gush of water, followed by needlessly loud stomping. A few muffled thumps and irritable growling.

Aziraphale chuckled. _Awake for ten minutes and already making a nuisance of himself._

He spent the next half hour tidying the shelves. The Them would be spending the day in London. Worn down by Adam’s desperate begging, Crowley was driving to get all four youngsters and bring them back in time for a late lunch.

Crowley slouched into the room. Yawning, he hugged Aziraphale from behind. Crowley nuzzled him. Stubble scraped Aziraphale’s cheek.

“That’s more like it.” Aziraphale smiled and put aside his feather duster. He tilted his head back and buried his face in russet hair. “Good morning, my love.”

The only reply was a sleep-addled growl; the tuneless gibberish of a demon who had never been a morning person. Aziraphale ignored his grumbling. Just part of the morning routine. He patted the arms encircling his sternum. “Your coffee’s in the kitchen.”

“Thanks.” Crowley kissed the top of his head and slouched into the next room in pursuit of caffeine. 

As if on cue, the coffeemaker beeped. The appliances had been installed at Crowley's insistence. He preferred using human methods to make his food. Miracles left an aftertaste, he said.

Crowley wandered bleary-eyed into the back room, holding a mug of morning motivation. Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. He could smell it from where he stood. Black, with too much sugar. The mug was adorable. He'd come across it in a novelty shop. _Instant human, just add coffee_ , was written in bold font across the side. Aziraphale loved it. And though he wouldn't admit it, Crowley did too.

From the corner of his eye, Aziraphale saw Crowley flop down on his couch. It was old and squashy. There was a permeant indent in the cushions. Pieces of the demon littered the shop from kitschy mugs to useless appliances to creases in the furniture. Life was good.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the window. Fat flakes drifted down. The panes outside were caked in frost. A chill hung in the air.

“It’s December,” Aziraphale sighed dreamily.

“Really?” Crowley asked dryly as a flurry of horns sounded outside. “I hadn’t noticed.” He took a gulp of coffee. “What was your first clue, the influx of people, tacky holiday lights, or increase in traffic around the shopping districts?”

Aziraphale gasped. “It’s not tacky, it’s _festive_!” he squawked.

“Agree to disagree,” Crowley muttered. He stared out the window at the endless line of traffic and shook his head. Nothing but horns and pedestrians weaving in and out of the unmoving line of cars. He turned away, looking disgusted. “It’s a madhouse out there. It’s gonna take forever to get to Tadfield. 'Tis the season. Let's get this over with. Where are the keys?” 

Crowley frowned and patted his pockets. He spun in a circle, checking his coat, jeans, even his boots. Coffee sloshed out of the mug. It vanished before hitting the floor. He rolled his eyes. “Great. Lost my shades, too. I'll be right back.”

Growling, still holding the mug, Crowley stomped out. Discontented grumbling drifted back to Aziraphale as the demon prowled among the shelves. 

“Have you seen my keys?” 

“Next to the door, love. Be careful, won’t you?” Aziraphale asked. Pedestrians and other motorists aside, Crowley’s driving always made him a little nervous.

Crowley's head poked around a shelf. “Don't you trust me?” He put a hand to his chest, pretending to look offended. Those infernal shades were already perched on his nose.

Aziraphale stood up and pursued him to the door. “You need to be careful. Promise me.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yes, angel, I promise not to let anything hit me,” he drawled.

How could he be so flippant?

“That accident was your fault, and you know it.” Aziraphale swatted his shoulder. “Besides, it won't just be you in the car. You’ll have the children, too. I _knew_ we should have invested in seatbelts.” He wrung his hands in agitation.

“Aziraphale, hey. Come on.” Crowley opened an arm, gesturing with the mug. “Come here.”

Still wringing his hands, Aziraphale drifted into his embrace. The familiar scent washed over him. Cinnamon and coffee and a hint of woodsmoke. Aziraphale sighed and buried his nose in Crowley's shoulder.

Crowley laid his chin in tufty hair. “Relax, angel. I’ll be fine,” he murmured. “We’ll all be fine. Cross my little black heart.”

Aziraphale gnawed the inside of his cheek. “What if something happens? What would we say to their parents? What _could_ we say?”

“It's forty miles. In and out. Come on, it's not like I'm going to eat them before I get back,” Crowley said, and squeezed his shoulder. “Trust me, angel. We'll be back in no time.”

“Of course I trust you,” Aziraphale said. He toyed with Crowley's lapel. “That's not it.”

Crowley frowned. “Then what's the problem?”

“It's snowing, and cold, and they're young,” Aziraphale babbled. Once he started, it was hard to stop. “The road's are a mess. Maybe we should push it back. I want you all to be safe, and if something should happen...mpph!”

A hand to his mouth cut him off. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. Really, there was no need for that.

Ignoring his glare, Crowley put the mug down on the nearest flat surface. He cupped Aziraphale's cheek in his other hand. “Hey. Aziraphale, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Aziraphale obeyed. There was no anger in the depths of those amber eyes. Only love and infinite patience. Aziraphale melted. 

“It's going to be OK, angel,” he murmured. We'll be safe.” Crowley kissed the tip of his nose. “I give you my word. All right?”

“Oh, all right,” Aziraphale agreed. He smoothed the front of Crowley's jacket. There was no need. The demon was sharp and put together no matter what he wore.

“Good.” Crowley winked. He squeezed Aziraphale's shoulders and withdrew.

Aziraphale tried not to fidget as Crowley reached for his mug. It wasn't a question of trust. A small part of him worried. Couldn't help worrying.

Crowley took another sip of his coffee. “What time is it?” he asked, breaking off to yawn.

“Half past nine,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley groaned. “I'm late.”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek. “You'll drive slowly?”

“Like I said, angel, we'll be fine. You worry too much.” Crowley masked his snort of derision in another sip of coffee.

Aziraphale sighed. He sat down at his desk and picked up the book. Might as well enjoy the few hours of quiet left to him. Once the Them arrived, silence was out of the question. _If_ they made it back. Crowley gave new meaning to the term speed demon. Four children riding in that discorporation trap of car, with Crowley behind the wheel, and all the traffic and all those innocent people... Aziraphale started to shiver, then stopped as a thought struck him. An idea so wonderfully simple, it just had to work. He snapped his fingers.

“All right, I’m off.” Crowley swallowed the last of his coffee. He grabbed his keys, kissed his angel, and opened the door. “Later.”

“Mind how you go.”

Crowley snapped his fingers. Outside, the Bentley coughed into life. Instead of the roar of an engine, it jingled. The demon jumped. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Aziraphale tried and failed to hide his smirk.

“That ringing. Didn’t you hear it?” Crowley demanded.

Aziraphale shook his head, still fighting to keep a straight face. “I don’t hear anything.”

The demon snapped his fingers again. This time, when the Bentley roared, the jingling more pronounced.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Bells. I hear bells. Coming from the Bentley,” he said, slowly.

Amber eyes flicked from the angel to the car and back again. Crowley hissed and ran out the door. A second of silence, then...

_“Angel!”_

Unhurriedly, Aziraphale put the book aside and walked out. Standing in the middle of the road, surrounded by curious onlookers, Crowley was staring, horrorstruck, at his car. A puff of smoke came from the exhaust.

Aziraphale lounged in the doorway and folded his arms. “Something wrong?” he called.

“Something wrong? Something…” Crowley dragged his hands through his hair. He stared at Aziraphale. “It rings. My car freaking _rings_. Like bells. What did you do?”

Passerby were pointing and laughing. Aziraphale bit back a chuckle. Crowley rounded on him.

“What did you do?” he demanded.

“Nothing that can’t be undone, my love, I assure you. Just a little…insurance.”

“Insurance?” Crowley echoed. “What for?”

“For the safety of the children, of course,” Aziraphale said brightly. “So long as you drive safe, the car won’t ring. It’s a warning. Exceed the speed limit or any other demonic activity, and the car will ring out like a sleigh. ”

“It’s an embarrassment!” Crowley threw his hands up in frustration.

“Perhaps.” Aziraphale smiled. “But a musical one. What better way to ring in a new year?”

“Oh, come _on,”_ Crowley hissed irritably. “Aziraphale!”

“What?”

“Bells? Seriously?! You replaced my vintage engine with bells?!”

Aziraphale smiled innocently. “It's only temporary. Drive safely and it all goes back to normal.” He put a hand over his heart. “I promise.”

For a minute, Crowley gaped soundlessly. The Bentley continued its merry ringing. He had no choice. Obey the speed limit, or become the laughingstock of London. A ringing car? Whoever heard of something so outlandish? Aziraphale beamed. A little angelic trick prevented demonic intervention. Crowley couldn't miracle his way out of this one.

Crowley spluttered. “You swear it’s temporary?” he asked at last.

“As long as the Them arrive intact. Yes, it will be.”

“Oh, you bastard.” Crowley’s face twisted. He stomped back across the street and gave Aziraphale a fierce kiss. “I hate you.”

Aziraphale squeezed his shoulder. “I love you, too,” he said. “Mind how you go.”


	2. Cranberries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley picks up the Them in Tadfield.

Crowley laid on the horn. The blast shattered the silence of Lower Tadfield.

He glanced at his watch. “Come on, we’re gonna hit traffic,” he muttered. “Where are they?”

Driving out of London obeying the speed limit had been humiliating. The Bentley was as confused as he was. Crowley patted the dashboard absently. “Don’t worry, baby,” he said in an undertone, “I’ll get him back.”

It wouldn’t be anything too big. Something minor. Maybe alphabetize the shelves. Aziraphale _loathed_ organization.Crowley was just wondering which set of bibles to start with when the door to Jasmine Cottage burst open. A stampede of kids thundered down the path.

Crowley stepped out. “Hey, fledglings.”

They pounced on him, all knees and elbows. Crowley bore the weight stoically. He had eleven years of godfathering to make up for. Not just Adam. Pepper, Wensley, and Brian, too. Dog wound around his ankles and drooled on the pavement.

“Are you sure you can manage them all?” Anathema was leaning on the gate, watching the display with an indulgent smile.

“I think I can handle it,” Crowley drawled. 

With Adam clinging to his shoulders like Spanish moss, Crowley extended a hand. They shook. 

“We'll have a great time, won't we?” he asked the Them.

“Don't worry, Anathema,” Adam assured her. He propped his chin on Crowley's shoulder. “ We'll be good. We've been looking forward to this all month.”

Anathema raised an eyebrow. “It's not you I'm worried about.”

“We'll be _fine_.” In a flash of impatience, Pepper dragged Crowley's arm. “Can we _go_ now?”

“Once the interrogation's over,” Crowley soothed. 

Anathema sighed and waved a hand. “Have fun.”

The kids cheered. Crowley staggered as they dove on him again, hugging the air he didn't need out of his lungs. Their enthusiasm was infectious. “All right, you heard her. We are good to go.”

“Why are you so popular?” Anathema asked. “These kids adore you.”

“Demonic charisma?” Crowley shrugged. The movement dislodged the ex-Antichrist. Dog yapped in excitement as Adam slid to the path.

Crowley ruffled his hair. “Get in the car, I’ll be right there.”

Shouting and laughing, the Them scrambled into the Bentley with Adam in the lead. She greeted them with an enthused blast of Queen. That car loved kids as much as Crowley did.

Crowley shook his head, hiding a smile. “How’s Salamander?” he asked the witch.

“Oh, he’s fine,” Anathema said. “Ran out to grab some canned cranberry sauce. Gotta have that.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. Last month, he and Aziraphale had popped down to Tadfield to take the kids to a cranberry bog. Everyone had a blast, wading knee-deep in eddying currents, picking the berries bobbing on the surface.

Crowley smiled at the memory. He'd gotten some good pics.

“What happened to all the ones we picked?” he asked. “There must've been ten pounds.”

“Oh, there was. Most of it is now plastered to my kitchen ceiling. We've been baking,” she said dryly.

Crowley glanced over at the cottage. Even from this distance, he could see the stains on the wallpaper. The kitchen looked like a crime scene, splotches of maroon as far as the eye could see.

 _Baking?_ _More like experimenting,_ Crowley thought to himself.

“Did they have fun?” he asked, biting his cheek to contain his laughter.

Anathema wasn't amused. “You owe me,” she said. “I had to keep them entertained.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. He snapped his fingers, clearing the mess in the kitchen. “There, my debt is repaid.”

Anathema's lip twitched. “My hero. What took you so long to get here? They were getting restless.”

It _had_ taken a while. Forced to a normal speed, dealing with holiday traffic, the forty-mile trek, which normally took Crowley an hour, lasted two hours and fifteen minutes. Crowley refused to admit that speeding with the Bentley in its current state would activate angelic bells. He still had his pride.

Crowley shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Oh, end of the year. Peace on Earth and whatnot. Can’t plow down every pedestrian that wanders into the road. Too many this time of year.”

Anathema narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t seem to mind hitting me.”

“ _You_ hit _me_ ,” Crowley corrected. “It was the middle of the night in the middle of the country in the middle of the woods. You shouldn’t have been out there.”

“You should have had your lights on,” she shot back. The words were rough, but she was smiling. “Besides, I was looking for _that_.”

She pointed to the car. Crowley glanced back. Pride pricked his heart as he saw Adam flicking through the CDs stashed in the glovebox. He was wearing a pair of Crowley’s shades. Dog was with him, paws on the dashboard, sniffing at the wheel. The others were safely stashed in the backseat. Crowley could see three heads bobbing as they argued among themselves with the comradeship of siblings. Saints Below, they were great.

“Right, I gotta fly. Later, Book Girl.”

“Hang on.”

Crowley let out an exasperated sigh and turned back. “What? I’m on kind of a tight schedule.”

From an inner pocket, Anathema pulled out a paper-wrapped bundle. She thrust it into his hands. “Here. You gave them the cranberries, you take the result.”

Crowley took it. His nose twitched. It was lumpy and heavy and doughy in places it shouldn't be. “Dare I ask?”

“Fruit cake,” she told him. “Cranberry fruit cake. That’s why Newt’s getting the canned stuff. We used them all up. The kids worked hard to make it, so _be nice_.” Her eyes flashed meaningfully.

“I’m a demon,” Crowley said. “I don’t do nice. But I’ll make sure the little monsters know what a good job they did, both baking and destroying your kitchen.”

He tipped an imaginary hat to her and set off at a lazy stalk to his car full of jabbering Them. He opened the door, pushed Dog out of his seat, and sat down. He held out the fruit cake. 

“Looks great, kids. Fruit cake, real original. The mess was nice, too. You really did a number on the tile. I'm so proud.”

The fruitcake vanished into the glovebox. Even if Dog was terrier size these days, Crowley knew from firsthand experience Hell Hounds would eat anything.

“You like it?” Wensleydale asked. He squinted suspiciously. The kid had a knack for sniffing out lies, even demonic ones.

“Oh, yeah. Big fan, me. Don't worry, it won't last long. You know how much my angel loves his sweets.”

They beamed with pride.

“What took so long?” Adam demanded. “You took forever.”

“I got up late.” Crowley laid his hand on the seat as he pulled out of the driveway. “It’s going to take a while to get to London. Lots of traffic, so get comfortable.”

The Them exchanged nervous glances. They weren't used to Crowley obeying mundane traffic laws. Their concern brought a smile to his lips. Sweet kids. Troublesome, but sweet.

“Uncle Crowley? Are you feeling OK?”

Crowley lowered his lenses to wink at Pepper. “I’m fine, kiddo. Let’s just say a certain angel stuck his feathers were they didn’t belong.”

They gasped. Even Dog tilted his head to the side. The questions flew thick and fast as Crowley turned the corner. The waving shape of Anathema shrank in the rearview mirror. “Uncle Ezra? What did he do? Was it bad?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Crowley said. If they found out the truth, he'd never live it down. “I might be sticking to the speed limit until we get there,” he turned on the radio. “but we can still jam.”

Five voices belted out classic lyrics as the vintage car headed toward London.


End file.
